I Never Promised You A Rose Garden

Last Tuesday, I returned home from surgery, slightly addled and mostly nauseous. This is my typical response and nothing to be alarmed about. I stumbled groggily from the car to my bed, elbow-guided in the right direction by my resident stud muffin, Kevie-Kev. He doesn’t let me run into walls or anything and he always holds the plastic throw-up tub for me, even though it grosses him out. Once I was settled, mom brought in a vase of beautiful roses, (pink, of course, I’m sure you see the connection) and said, “Look what came for you!” My brother David and his lovely wife Caroline had sent flowers to brighten my day. I lay in the growing twilight, admiring my flowers with a loopy grin on my face.

By Friday, two more arrangements had joined the first and my room smelled like a flower garden. I was beginning to feel glamorous like Zsa Zsa Gabor, who I always see photographed with massive sprays of fresh flowers sprinkled behind her, and even when I came up the stairs, and my bedroom door was closed; I could still smell the flowers. I was reading in bed on Saturday, when Sher came into my room. She said, “What’s that smell? It smells in here!” My Zsa Zsa bubble promptly burst. Laters